


"Arthur won't even notice I'm gone"

by beansway30031995



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: 5x08, Daegal - Freeform, F/M, Friendship, Gwaine - Freeform, Gwen - Freeform, Hurt Merlin, Hurt/Comfort, The Hollow Queen, Worried Arthur, because who doesn't love a bit of angst, leon - Freeform, mild Arthur/Gwen, mostly friendship between Merlin/Arthur
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-29
Updated: 2016-09-29
Packaged: 2018-08-18 12:18:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8161859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beansway30031995/pseuds/beansway30031995
Summary: Or so Merlin thought. But Arthur is a better friend that he gave him credit for.My first attempt at a passable story, so I apologize in advance for any mistakes or inconsistencies.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first story, so please leave some constructive criticism :) Feedback is much appreciated.

Arthur shrugged the plates of his armour in place over his shoulder, and stood still as Gwen moved behind him to latch them in place.  
“You’re much better at this than Gaius,” he said teasingly as she worked on the straps of the armour on his shoulders.  
“I was a servant, remember?”  
“You were always much more than that – “ he started, but winced slightly when the straps cut into his chest.  
“Stop moving, then,” she answered lightly.  
Having Gwen helping him get dressed had been pleasant, until that moment. He wasn’t sure how she’d managed to turn it into such an intimate act, but he hadn’t minded in the slightest. Although it had been hard resisting the urge to kiss her and bring her back into the bed as she brushed his waist and put her hands around him. But with the sharp plates of the armour biting into his shoulder, he found himself wishing he had someone more accustomed to the process to help him.  
“Ow!” He grimaced as the latch on the other shoulder was closed too tightly. He _definitely_ wished he had someone else to help him. “I want Merlin back. Where is he?” He said tightly, trying to maintain his dignity and not double over gripping his shoulder.  
“You mustn’t be hard on him,” Gwen chastised him gently, checking the straps on his back.  
“I’m a bit worried,” Arthur confessed, frowning. “You don’t think something’s happened to him, do you?” He tried to keep his voice casual, and failed. He knew Gaius had sent him to look for rare herbs, and he knew it was not unlike Merlin to waste entire days on tasks that should’ve taken a few hours at worst. He was clumsy and easily distracted on his best days, and he’d been even more so ever since Arthur was poisoned. At first he’d attributed it to his night in the cells (Arthur had kept up a cool façade in front of his knights, but he’d been angrier than he was willing to admit about it; Merlin was no traitor. Had he not proved he was willing to be poisoned himself rather than let Arthur come to harm time and time again in front of those same knights, and Gwen?), but it had continued for days after; what if he hadn’t been careful in the woods and got hurt, or assaulted? It wouldn’t be the first time, after all.  
“He’s probably overworked.” Gwen’s voice interrupted his musings. “Maybe just once, let him enjoy himself.” She moved in front of him again, and smiled reassuringly.  
Arthur banished the worry from his mind. “You’re right,” he said. He was probably overthinking this, reading too much into things. Merlin could take care of himself, he wasn’t a delicate maiden.  
“Besides, you’ve got more important things to worry about,” Gwen reminded him. She was not wrong: as much as he loathed the Sarrum, he needed to make a good impression and secure his alliance. A duel with his best swordsman was the best option to both entertain the man, and judge how much of a threat his warriors were. Besides, swordplay was one of Arthur’s favourite activities, and he had been looking forward to challenging someone other than his knights for a change.  
He bent down to kiss her goodbye, and left for the training grounds.  
\-------------------------------------  
Arthur smiled thinly as the Sarrum walked off with his champion. He may have lost the duel, but he didn’t think he’d lost the Sarrum’s respect for it; if anything, he’d looked impressed with Arthur’s skill. Besides, Arthur wasn’t sure the Sarrum, proud as he was, would’ve been in a good mood if he had beaten his champion in front of all his knights. He dared to hope the duel had been impressive enough to convince the visiting monarch he wasn’t a weakling and a coward without humiliating him by beating his best warrior.  
He was about to order the men the resume their daily training when two knights entered the training grounds.  
As they got closer, Arthur was able to recognize them: Ser Garrett and Ser William, who were supposed to be on patrol duty today. Between an unknown traitor meeting with Morgana in the woods and mercenaries setting ambushes so close to the citadel, Arthur had decided to rise the frequency of patrols; he hadn’t so far received any unusual reports. Until today, apparently.  
“Sire,” Ser William called when he was close enough.  
“What happened?” Arthur asked. They looked worried and hurried, and that in turn made Arthur uneasy. Though they were young, they were not inexperienced, and he knew they wouldn’t have left their post without good reason.  
“We found a boy in the woods, my Lord,” answered Ser Garrett, pushing his dark hair out of his eyes. “He requested an audience.”  
Arthur raised an eyebrow at him. It was not customary to bring anyone in to speak with the king just because they asked, unless it was clear they were in distress or otherwise in immediate danger. Normally, if someone had matters to bring before the king, they were brought before Geoffrey first, who then decided whether the matter warranted the King’s intervention or not. The two knights were supposed to know that.  
Ser Garrett must’ve realized he’d chosen his words poorly, because he leaned closer and continued hurriedly, “He said he has information about Morgana.”  
Arthur’s eyes widened before he could school his expression.  
“Take me to him,” he ordered, already striding towards the castle.  
\--------------------------  
The boy didn’t look like much: dark hair, dark eyes, stained travelling clothes and scarce supplies in a bag. He’d requested an audience with the King, but now seemed reluctant to ever open his mouth again as he looked between Arthur and his knights in the throne room. He had a wide, anxious look in his eyes; Arthur could see that he wanted desperately to say something, but was afraid. Of what, he could only guess.  
“Speak,” Arthur urged him, not unkindly.  
“My name is Daegal, Sire,” he said quietly, tugging one of his sleeves downward.  
“You said you had information about Morgana?”  
The boy swallowed. “Yes, m’lord.” He stopped again, and seemed to be debating what to say next. “I met her a few days ago. She – she paid me to – _wait_ , please m’lord, wait!” For Leon, to his right, had gripped the hilt of his sword and was about to draw it. Arthur himself had been half out of his chair before the boy had finished speaking.  
The boy didn’t look like much, but then again neither had most of the sorcerers Arthur had met in his life. He knew the boy had been searched thoroughly for weapons before being allowed in the room, but that counted for nothing if he had magic. He made a mental note to ask Gaius if there was a way to detect sorcerers before he agreed to give audience, even as he drew his sword.  
“Please m’lord, I mean you no harm! I came to warn you! She’d kill me if she knew I was here!” Daegal was still pleading, his hands outstretched in front of him to show he had no weapons.  
“Warn me? About what?” he asked harshly.  
“M-Morgana paid me to lure him away,” he said in a rush. “Merlin, I mean. Your manservant. I had to lure him away. You have to understand, I’m alone and I needed the money, I didn’t know what she was gonna – “  
Arthur felt his insides turn to ice. He’d been right to be worried, Merlin wasn’t simply late. What did Morgana want with him? How long ago had he gone? Had he left in the evening or early in the morning?  
Daegal was still talking, explaining that Morgana had threatened him and he’d had no choice. Arthur interrupted him.  
“Why did she want him gone? Where did you take him?” His voice was harsher than he’d intended, but he had neither time nor patience for courtesy right now.  
“I don’t know,” the boy replied. “I – I didn’t know why she wanted with him, she just told me to get him out of the city and that no one must know about it. I swear!”  
Arthur looked at the boy. His eyes were wide with fear, the hands still outstretched in a pleading gesture and trembling. He looked only at the King now, and Arthur could see no deception in his gaze. Besides, he would’ve found a more credible story, and he would’ve presented it better, if he’d needed to gain Arthur’s trust for some ulterior motive. Like as not, he was just a frightened boy who had meddled with things beyond his understanding.  
That didn’t make him innocent, but it meant he probably wasn’t a threat.  
“Where did you take him?” Arthur repeated, still standing with his sword in his hand.  
“The Darkling Woods,” Daegal replied at once. “She poisoned him, left him there. I don’t know if he’s still there or if he managed to find help, but I came to warn you as soon as I could. I’m no healer, I didn’t know what else – “  
“Alright,” Arthur interrupted him again, sheathing his sword and sitting back on the throne. Worry was eating at him. Merlin had been _poisoned_. Knowing Morgana, the poison was lethal, slow and excruciating; it was doubtful Merlin had managed to heal himself. Which meant Arthur had to find him, _now_ , and get him to Gaius. But Morgana’s plans rarely had a single layer; he had to use his head and think straight, or he risked walking into a trap.  
“You said Morgana wanted no one to know? She didn’t tell you to warn anyone, leave any sign…?”  
Daegal nodded. “It needed to look like he’d just walked away.”  
Morgana had not anticipated the boy coming to him: this was obvious from the boy’s fear and reluctance to confess. Which meant she did not intend for Arthur to know about Merlin, or to rush to his aid. Which meant it probably wasn’t a trap. Probably.  
Arthur made a decision. He looked at the boy.  
“Very well. You will tell me how to reach Merlin, and then you will stay here.” Lately, the cells didn’t seem be as safe as they once were, and he needed to question the boy when he got back. “The rest of you – “ He looked at his knights. “You will stay here, and ensure that no one leaves the city. I want four of you at every gate, the rest in patrols in the city in groups of three. Search for any disturbance, any indication that Morgana has further plans.” That way the spy, if they were among his Knights, would have no way of contacting Morgana about Arthur’s departure without alerting at least two other knights.  
“Sire,” Leon stopped him. “Is this wise? To go alone?”  
Arthur knew Leon had reached the same conclusions he had; but he was a more cautious man than Arthur, and he’d sworn an oath to protect him with his life. He didn’t want to take the chance that Arthur’s conclusions had been wrong, and that it really was a trap.  
Arthur was sure Leon was not the spy. He’d known him for too long, and given what he’d witnessed the last time Morgana had taken the throne, he wasn’t likely to be her ally. But he also knew he couldn’t afford to take another Knight with him, in case they were the spy, and that taking any more than one would raise suspicion and alert the spy.  
“I need you here, in case the spy makes a mistake,” Arthur told quietly, looking him in the eyes. “Try to find out what this plan of hers is. Don’t tell anyone where I’m going, it’s better if no one knows I know. Tell the Sarrum I had an urgent business to see to, and that I’ll be back as soon as I can.”  
Leon still looked troubled, but he nodded and left.  
The boy still stood in the centre of the room, eyes fixed on Arthur.  
“Where is he?” Arthur asked quickly.  
“Go north until you reach the river, then follow the current backwards until you find him. I left a piece of cloth there, you can’t miss it. No more than a couple hours on horse.”  
He knew he’d be faster to just take the boy, but he couldn’t take the risk of his getting cold feet and running straight to Morgana. He’d decide what to do with him when he got back.  
He left the room quickly, trying not to run.  
  
Barely twenty minutes later, he was fixing the saddle on his horse in front of the gates, anxious to leave as soon as possible.  
Gwaine reached him just as he mounted onto the horse.  
“Find him,” he said at once, without bothering with the honorifics. “And if you’re not back with him within a day, I’m coming after you, orders or no orders.”  
“You will do no such thing,” Arthur replied coolly, staring him down. Gwaine was hot-tempered and impulsive, and sometimes his bravado made him say things he didn’t truly mean.  
Then again, he might mean it this time.  
He knew Gwaine cared a great deal for Merlin; he’d never been truly sure whether the knight was more loyal to him or Camelot. He didn’t plan on finding out under these circumstances. But he was comforted to know that, should things turn for the worst, Gwaine would eventually come around to help. So he just sighed and didn’t argue further with him.  
“I’ll find him, Gwaine.” He tugged on the reins and left the courtyard.  
  
It was two hours before he found the place. The whole time, his fear grew larger in his chest, and he had to focus not to imagine the worst: that he was already too late, that it had been too late from the moment Daegal came to Camelot; that it was a trap, Merlin was dead and soon he would be too. He tried to keep his thoughts in check, to stay alert to his surroundings, but the more time passed, the harder it became.  
Finally, Arthur spied a thin strip of fabric tied to a tree. He dismounted and tied his horse, looking around. There were tracks on the muddy ground, but no sign of Merlin. No sign of anyone. “Merlin?” he called loudly. There was no answer.  
He followed the tracks to a small ravine, and looked down.  
His heart missed a beat.  
There, sprawled on the ground on his back, was Merlin.  
He cursed loudly, running down as swiftly as he could, and fell on his knees next to his friend.  
“Merlin? Merlin, can you hear me?” Merlin’s face was white, eyes closed, faint signs of some black substance around his mouth. Arthur gripped his shoulders and shook him, but he didn’t answer and he didn’t stir. He put two fingers on his throat and watched his chest closely. Merlin was alive, but barely: his pulse was weak, and his breathing too swift and laboured.  
Unbidden, the memories of the Dorocha attack came to Arthur’s mind. Merlin had looked a lot like this after they’d attacked him, and Arthur had been sure he was beyond saving. He’d been given a second chance then; he could only pray he would be given another now.  
“Merlin?” he called again, slapping him lightly on the cheeks. “Come on, wake up. _Come on._ ”  
Finally Merlin’s eyes fluttered open, and Arthur sighed in relief. He wasn’t too late yet, they could still save him.  
“Arthur?” he called weakly.  
“Yes, it’s me. I’m here.”  
After a moment, Merlin managed to focus on Arthur. He struggled to speak for a second, then sputtered out, “What are you – How – “  
“Daegal told me. But it doesn’t matter now, just tell me what to do, tell me how to make an antidote.” It had to be possible to make an antidote. He hadn’t come all this way, he hadn’t found Merlin barely in time, only to have him die in front of him. Arthur would save him somehow.  
“Can’t – too late,” Merlin answered. He gagged then, and Arthur helped shift him to the side so he could spit it out.  
“It’s not too late, come on, don’t be a coward! Just tell me what to do.”  
Merlin turned to lie on his back again, coughing; he looked Arthur in the eyes for a moment, then spoke haltingly, “Rue – it’s got yellow flowers, and leathery leaves.” He coughed again and went on, “Milfoil – yarrow,” he added, when Arthur looked confused. “You know – “  
“Yes, I know that one. Then?”  
“Ground them into a tincture,” Merlin finished, his voice gravelly.  
“Alright. I will be right back. Just hang on.” Arthur squeezed his shoulder encouragingly and left in a hurry.  
He didn’t want to go too far; it would take him too long, and he didn’t know how much time Merlin still had. Luckily, he spotted yellow flowers almost immediately; yarrow was harder to find – Arthur had never been particularly adept at botany, and his growing fear made it harder. Even as he examined the plants, he kept listening for any sounds coming from Merlin, terrified that he would stop breathing before Arthur had had time to prepare the antidote.  
Finally, he spotted what looked like the right plant. He brought his prize to Merlin so he could confirm, but his friend had passed out again and would not be roused. With no time to lose, he would simply have to hope they were the right ones.  
He ground them into a liquid as quickly as he could; when it looked finished, he collected it in a cup and brought it to Merlin.  
He was still unconscious, and his breathing seemed more difficult. In growing desperation, Arthur took his water skin and splashed the cold water in Merlin’s face.  
Merlin opened his eyes and spluttered, and Arthur put his hand on the back of his head to hold him up.  
“Drink here,” he said quietly, tilting the cup towards Merlin’s mouth. He drank in small sips, but he finished it all. Arthur laid him back on the ground and made to let go of him, but Merlin grasped his hand and put it over his shoulder.  
“Wait – Hold – “  
“What?”  
Suddenly Merlin jerked under Arthur’s grasp. “ _Merlin?_ ” he cried, as his friend convulsed, his eyes tightly shut and his face contorted in pain.  
Arthur’s panic flared, turning his insides to stone and squeezing his heart. Had he got the wrong flowers? Had he picked too little, too many? Had he ground them wrong somehow? Were they too late after all?  
It seemed to go on forever, every second as long as an hour as his friend flailed on the ground and Arthur looked down helplessly.  
Finally Merlin stilled, but Arthur’s relief was short-lived. He was too still.  
He wasn’t breathing. Arthur searched for his pulse and found nothing.  
“Hey,” Arthur shook him. “Hey! No. No, come on, damn it! Come on! Merlin!” Merlin’s body was limp under his hands. Arthur felt cold, his chest tight, his heart hammering so wildly he felt it on his ribs, his thoughts a litany of denial and prayer and desperation.  
He tried to think through his panic. After Merlin had nearly died at the hands of the Dorocha, he’d had Gaius explain to him what to do in emergency situations. What was he supposed to do now?  
Suddenly remembering, he put his hands on Merlin’s chest and began pressing forcefully.  
He pressed again and again, so hard he thought Merlin’s ribs might break, but his friend remained still and unresponsive.  
_One, two, three, four._ He was dead and it was Arthur’s fault. He’d picked the wrong flowers, he’d fed him poison, he’d done it wrong. _One, two, three, four._ He was going to have to tell Gaius his ward was dead, he was going to have to tell Hunith her son was dead because of him. _One, two, three, four._ If only he’d come sooner, if only he’d noticed something was wrong sooner, if only he’d been a better friend, if only if only if only. Merlin had always been loyal and brave and there for him, but the only time Merlin needed him Arthur had failed him in return. _One, two, three, four._ How long had passed? A minute, two? How long could someone be dead and still come back without lasting damage? _One, two, three, four._ It didn’t matter, he wasn’t coming back. Pain pierced Arthur like a sword and left him breathless.  
He stopped pressing.  
Suddenly, Arthur felt a pulse under his hand. He splayed one hand on Merlin’s chest, while he frantically pressed the other on his neck. He found a pulse, and felt Merlin’s chest expand as he coughed and gulped air into his lungs.  
Arthur cried out in relief, inwardly thanking every god he’d ever heard of. He sat back on the ground and took deep breaths, trying to steady his racing heart.  
When he felt steady enough, he bundled up his cape and put it under Merlin’s head as a pillow. He quickly gathered some wood and put up a small fire, and waited. He wouldn’t know if Merlin had some kind of lasting damage until he woke up; he resolved to wait until mid-afternoon: if Merlin didn’t wake up by then, he’d bring him to Gaius.  
While he waited, he did his best to clean the wound on Merlin’s leg and bandage it. He didn’t think he had broken anything or got hurt somewhere else, but again he’d have to wait until he woke up to know for certain.  
  
As it was, he only had to wait two hours. As the sun began to dip towards the west, Merlin opened his eyes slowly.  
“Arthur?” he croaked out.  
“I’m here,” Arthur answered at once, looking sharply towards Merlin and moving closer. He looked at Merlin’s face closely, trying to determine the state of his mind. “How do you feel?” he asked cautiously.  
“Sore and tired. What happened?”  
“Do _you_ remember what happened?”  
Merlin looked at him then. His eyes seemed clear enough, even if he was still paler than Arthur would have liked. “Morgana – she poisoned me. Then you came – how did you know?”  
“Daegal told me what had happened and where to find you. Do you feel anything out of the ordinary, pain somewhere…?”  
“Daegal?” Merlin looked confused for a moment. “He came to find you?” He raised his eyebrows, vaguely surprised. “Didn’t think he had it in him. I’m fine, anyway. How are you? Did Morgana – “  
“Merlin. You were quite literally _dead_ for a while there. I don’t believe you’re fine for a _second._ ” Arthur thought he’d managed to keep his voice steady, but Merlin seemed to notice something anyway. He looked at him again.  
“I’m sorry, Arthur.”  
For a moment, Arthur felt irrationally angry. He didn’t know exactly what he was angry about, but he was fairly certain it had to do with Merlin’s stubborn refusal to look after his damn self for a change. He repressed the unkind emotion with a sigh, sparing Merlin his tirade out of consideration for his near death experience.  
He put his hand on the other man’s shoulder.  
“Just – don’t do it again, alright? The next time some suspicious little orphan comes to your doorstep with some heartbreaking story or other, you _tell me_ about it before you do anything. Are we clear?” He stared straight at Merlin until the other man lowered his eyes, a sheepish smile on his lips.  
There was a moment of silence.  
“Seriously though, Merlin, how are you?”  
“Thirsty, mostly.”  
“On it.” Arthur picked up his water skin and propped Merlin on his arms so he could drink better. And if Arthur held him a little closer and tighter than strictly necessary, neither man complained about it.  
  
When Merlin was satisfied Arthur had not permanently damaged his leg trying to heal him, and felt well enough, they decided to go back to Camelot. It hadn’t been a day yet, but Arthur wouldn’t put it past Gwaine to decide he’d waited enough and burn the whole forest down to find them. The man was nothing if not determined, when he felt like it.  
Merlin chuckled quietly when he told him as much. “That he is. You should see what he’s like when he fancies a lady.” He had a fond smile on his lips. “He’s a good friend to have, though.”  
Arthur looked at him sideways as he saddled the horse. He’d only brought one, so they’d have to ride together. It was for the better: he wasn’t sure Merlin was well enough to ride on his own yet.  
But he seemed to have recovered enough to answer some questions.  
“So,” he began. “Any idea on why Morgana would want you gone?”  
“She hates us, Arthur, in case you’ve forgotten.”  
“Well, yes. But I didn’t think she had much interest in you in particular. And now I find out you’re important enough to warrant your very own murder attempt.”  
“Hurray for me,” Merlin said wearily.  
Arthur had been hoping Merlin would take the hint, but apparently he needed to be more direct if he wanted answers.  
“Daegal said she never told him why she needed you out here. Do you know anything about that?”  
If Arthur hadn’t been looking straight at him, he might have missed Merlin’s grimace. But the other man kept silent, and Arthur felt a prickle of impatience.  
“Merlin, this is important. Whatever Morgana plans, whatever can help bring her down, I need to know.”  
When he still didn’t answer, Arthur gripped his arm and turned him so they were facing each other. “Merlin.”  
Finally, Merlin looked at him and spoke. “Did Daegal mention Morgana directly?”  
Arthur nodded.  
“Did you question him thoroughly?”  
“Didn’t have time. I didn’t know how long ago you’d left, I needed to find you before anything else.”  
A flicker of amusement passed through Merlin’s eyes. “If I didn’t know any better,” he said smugly, “I’d say you _care._ ”  
Arthur snorted, trying to keep a smile from his lips. “Fortunately you do know better. So, moot point.”  
“Of course, Sire.”  
“You were saying?”  
The smile melted from Merlin’s lips. “Right. Well. I think Morgana wanted me dead because I found out something she didn’t want me to know. Well, I wasn’t entirely sure about it until today – or yesterday, I guess – when she poisoned me.”  
“What is it?”  
Merlin took a deep breath. “I think I know who Morgana’s spy in Camelot is.”  
Arthur stared at him, wide-eyed.  
“ _What_? Are you sure?”  
“Morgana pretty much confirmed it.” Merlin hesitated.  
“ _Well?_ ”  
“She said she’s under some sort of – charm, a trick of some sort – ”  
“She?” Arthur frowned. He didn’t have female servants. He didn’t know any ladies who had access to his plans, to the cells and to his food – except –  
But it couldn’t be.  
His chest tightened.  
“Gwen,” Arthur said quietly. He looked sharply at Merlin, hoping to be corrected. But Merlin simply nodded slowly.  
Arthur felt as if something very cold was sliding down his neck to his spine; his heart hammered in his chest.  
“Are you sure it’s her? Did Morgana mention her directly?” He hated the tremble in his voice as he said it.  
Merlin nodded again.  
Arthur’s ears were roaring. He felt out of balance, as if the world had suddenly shifted under him.  
Guinevere couldn’t have betrayed him. _She couldn’t._ She’d seen what Morgana was like. She’d suffered at her hands. It wasn’t a month ago that they’d rescued her from the sorceress, and lost her brother doing it. She’d never –  
But she had.  
Could he trust no one?  
Even as he refused to believe it, some part of him put in evidence in place. The way she’d sometimes been distant lately; how he sometimes woke alone in their bed, only to be told she’d gone for an early walk. The way she hadn’t suffered from the sleeping draught that had been in his food when he was poisoned, despite having eaten from the same plate, and her not having seen the assassin pour the poison into his ear…  
The world crumbled around him.  
“Arthur, it’s a spell. It’s not the real Gwen.”  
Arthur looked at Merlin numbly.  
“Listen – listen. She must’ve done something to her while she was in the Dark Tower. Some sort of enchantment. It’s – twisted her mind, somehow. The real Gwen would never help Morgana. _Arthur._ ” The sharp tone helped Arthur focus on Merlin. His friend held his gaze steadily, his blue eyes glinting even in the scarce light of the evening. “The real Gwen _loves_ you. She would never hurt you. We’re gonna help her, we’re gonna bring her back.”  
“Can it be done?”  
“We’ll find a way.”  
“I can’t lose her, Merlin.” He recognized the desperation in his voice, and did nothing to mask it.  
“You won’t. We’ll find a way, I promise.” Merlin was still holding his gaze, determination and certainty burning in his eyes.  
Arthur held on to his words as a drowning man holds onto a raft.  
Silently, they climbed onto the horse and headed back to Camelot.  
\---------------------------------------  
Much later, Arthur stood in front of the window in his chambers, staring down at the dark courtyard. He kept thinking about Gwen’s face when the arrow had hit the Sarrum’s chest instead of him, thanks to the boy’s sacrifice. If he hadn’t known any better, he’d have said she looked shaken about the close call. But he did know better, and he wondered how much of her surprise was genuine and how much was faked in order to mask her disappointment. _Probably half and half_ , he thought callously. _The best performances are always rooted in truth._ He tried to keep his thoughts detached, but his heart betrayed him and hurt nonetheless.  
_It doesn’t matter,_ he scolded himself. He and Merlin already had a plan. The next time Gwen sneaked out, they’d follow her and find definitive proof, and they’d find a way to break whatever spell Morgana had put on her. There _was_ a way, and they’d find it. It would have been too cruel, to have them overcome so much, have them conquer every adversity, only to let it end like this. In treason and blood.  
He refused to believe that was what Fate had in store for them.  
They’d get the real Gwen back. And then they’d make Morgana pay.


End file.
